


Absolution

by thisworldisawhore



Series: Teratoma [4]
Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Alan might have an oral fixation, Biting, Human!Edgar, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Games, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Woops, vampire!Alan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 21:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13152795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisworldisawhore/pseuds/thisworldisawhore
Summary: Alan sold his soul for this.-Frogcest biting porn. Lord knows someone besides me needed it. Can be read alone.





	Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> So my Christmas tradition for the last several years is I work on my Frogcest project and it's usually with nice results and then I never look at it again which is why there are never any updates from me. BUT THIS YEAR, I finished a porn drabble and since I probably disappointed all zero human beings in this fandom by posting _the wrong porn_ in Degenerated...
> 
> Well, here's some actual Frogcest.

The shadows play their own tricks and it looks like a small rivulet of blood runs from the side of Alan's mouth, snaking over the swell of his bottom lip. Alan presses into him, forehead to forehead, and all Edgar can think of is blood on his mouth. The thin runs of it on their skin before, the splatters when they'd come home from a job, back when Alan was human and Edgar's brain wasn't completely warped around the black-hole weight of him.

He's pressed in against the refrigerator still (the fucking refrigerator), but he'd be in this precarious position even if he weren't trapped. This claustrophobic, suffocating squeeze, god, it feels like finally being home. There's an _ache_ in his neck, _heat_... Alan and his fucking mind games, but _god_... 

Edgar is hyperaware of his own human breath fanning back against his face, of Alan's hands, one on his shoulder and one braced on the wall opposite. This fog and the heat radiating from him has Edgar's eyelids fluttering, so that when Alan's jaw and blood (blood?) lined mouth tick forward for the briefest of seconds, Edgar is still steps behind. His head is tilted back against the smooth metal surface and he swallows down the lump in his throat, the dryness of his mouth, before he tilts his head slightly to the side. 

"Do it," he chokes out. One hand came up to touch Alan's back lightly and fell back down. 

The hand on Edgar's shoulder snakes up to his hair, wills his eyes to meet Alan's, this silent question, this _are you sure_. Alan wants this. Oh, god, does Alan want this, _he sold his fucking soul for it_ , and mind games are one thing but he won't take what Edgar won't give. 

He raises his brows in question, one last out, but Edgar jerks his head once in a nod. "Just fucking do it," and he sounds so goddamned wrecked that there's hardly a pause at all before Alan's fangs are in him and Edgar gasps out something that isn't entirely surprise. 

Alan thinks of then, this near perfect mirror of that night, the way his gums, his entire mouth, tingled, the thick fog over him and the feel of his brother's body solid and warm against him. The warm, red darkness behind his eyelids, his own breath and the heat against his face, against his mouth, and that instinctual voice in the back of his mind that said, _teeth_ , and _suck_. When Edgar spoke, the way his throat jumped, _god_ , the places Alan had felt it even then. 

The first blood comes in a burst, crisp like the crunch of an apple, and Alan can't help but groan. His teeth loosen then sink back in, pulling. He can feel as much as hear when Edgar fumbles his name out, the noise it dissolves into when Alan sucks with more force than necessary. 

Edgar pushes into the hand in his hair, almost boneless, exposing more skin. The _heat_... _Oh_ , it burns like a furnace where Alan's teeth and mouth touch, and that first bite hurt so sharply, but the heat and the _hunger_ curled through him like smoke, this shared fog between them. His hands grapple at Alan's shoulders, looking for any purchase, and again _pain_ , but so good that his vision gets a little fuzzy as Alan draws his skin in. 

"Oh, _fuck_..." 

Alan thinks of then, but this? Now? _Oh, fuck_ is right. All he can think of is how fucking _wet_ Edgar's skin is against his mouth, saliva and blood, and _oh_ , it's fucking good, his mouth works, and he _sucks_ , and blood flows against his tongue and he chases, his teeth scratch, and it's lewd, the way he feeds, how every delicious _suck_ of his own mouth against Edgar's skin pulses again against the inside of his jeans. 

Alan works his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, that damned _heat_. Licks and sucks and bites and the blunt scrape of teeth that doesn't even break the skin, until the nonsense words and noises coming from Edgar's mouth (and the oh so lovely jump of his skin as he breathes them) take on a pleading tone and he can feel Edgar arch, hear the low wet noises of him licking his lips, biting them. One of his hands is on Edgar's hip, thumb digging in, and oh, how did that get there... 

Alan lets go of the fist he has in Edgar's hair and trails down his face, his jaw, his neck. His thumb strokes up under the ridge of Edgar's jaw line, stubble pulling at his thumb, tugging at his palm, and the only thing Alan can think of is how fucking hard he is, how he can _feel_ Edgar's arousal, how fucking _close_ his brother is, both through this mind link and through the taste of his blood that makes him feel sloppy drunk. Alan gives one last low noise against him and pulls off. 

The thumb under his jaw leads Edgar back upright. His other thumb, it's still pressing into his brother's hip, feeling the strain of muscle. 

Alan slides back against him, forehead to forehead again, searching. Edgar is flushed, and his mouth, oh god, his mouth is swollen, _bitten_ , and Alan can't pinpoint _why_ he has to restrain himself from just _taking_. "Alan," Edgar breathes out, just the name, but his already heavy, half-lidded eyes slide shut, and Alan, oh _god_ , plants one kiss, one tingling-sweet kiss to the side of his jaw before dropping to his knees. 

"Oh, god, _Alan_ ," and it's another stream of low, cursing babble just from Alan having dropped down. When Alan's hand ghosts over the front of his jeans, when Alan's long fingers pop the button of his pants, it's a low _fuck_ that jumps from his mouth. 

One nearly jumps from his own when he pulls Edgar out and the head is _wet_ , god he's leaking pre-cum, Alan smears it with his hand and slicks it down the shaft, and he's not all too sure which of them moaned but Edgar's hips jerk and his hands are at his sides, alternately balled and scratching at the smooth metal of the refrigerator at his back. 

Alan's hot tongue laves at the head of his brother's cock, then he sicks down, bobbing just this side of too slow but making up for it with sinful wet suction. Edgar's fingers end up wound in his hair, and oh, that's hot, too. 

"Fuck, _Alan_ ," he groans, and it's over in less than a minute. Alan groans around him when Edgar gives his hair a tug, trying to warn him, and when Edgar gives a small, broken noise and his hips jerk forward, Alan drinks it down maybe a bit too eagerly--after all, there's more than one kind of lifeblood and this can be just as good. 

Alan one-handedly pulls his own jeans down, pulls off and rests his head against Edgar's hip, still on his knees and refusing to give up that contact. When he wraps his hand around his own cock, he groans again, loudly, and he's slick- _slick_ just the same. His hand moves at a stripping pace, squeezing, twisting over the leaking head, and in what feels like seconds it's over with. 

He comes, on his knees, at his brother's feet.


End file.
